


Fallow

by genevievedarcygranger



Series: Negan/Rick fics [30]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Rick Grimes, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Farmer Negan, Farmer Rick Grimes, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Rick Grimes/Michonne, Multi, Negan (Walking Dead) Swears, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Old Man Rick, Pansexual Negan (Walking Dead), Post-All Out War Arc (Walking Dead), References to Depression, Romance, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 17:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17084216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genevievedarcygranger/pseuds/genevievedarcygranger
Summary: Things went differently. Negan was given the room needed to grow. But some things – and some people – can never really change.





	Fallow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rickbisexualgrimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickbisexualgrimes/gifts).



Up to his elbows in dirt, Negan was enjoying the simple pleasures of life. Funny how before he was so set against this, but after so long being locked away in a concrete box, it made sense that sensations like sweat dripping between his shoulder blades and sunshine warming in his hair seemed heavenly. Today for the most part, he worked alone, humming to himself or talking to the plants.

A sudden commotion caught his attention, and Negan sharply looked up from the black soil and his struggling tomato plants. “Visitors from Hilltop!” Someone shouted.

Moments later, Negan watched his own personal Angel of Death stride into view, twisted crowbar in hand. He remembered her. Mostly, he remembered her crying. Every time he’d seen her before, she’d been a screaming mess. This time, though, she was shouting, and she was firmly in control as she stalked toward the building that housed his jail cell, just adjacent to Rick’s house.

Only watching, Negan clenched his fingers and sat back on his heels.

As the Widow disappeared from view down the steps to the basement, a woman, whom Negan recognized as one of the Alexandrians who feeds him when Rick and Michonne can’t, rushed up the steps into Rick’s house without knocking. Negan vaguely remembered her name was Nora or Nova or something. She’s very pretty. He sighed.

In his mind’s eye, he could picture exactly what was happening. Nova would catch Michonne at a bad time, either making lunch or pouring over her lawbooks for her Charter. Judith would probably be hovering nearby, too, since it was past her naptime. Nora would tell Michonne that the Widow was here – and right on cue, Negan watched as Michonne quickly exited her house with her katana slung across her back. She made a beeline for his cell after the Widow.

Tipping his head back with his chin towards the sky, Negan closed his eyes.

 

_~Five Months into Imprisonment~_

"When will I get out of here, Rick?”

Bent over to collect Negan’s clean plate, Rick startled backwards, his blue eyes like searchlights in the dimness of the cell as he scanned Negan’s face. Of course, he was surprised. Negan hadn’t been speaking to anyone, and Siddiq had expressed concern that Negan might’ve lost use of his vocal cords from the wound. But Negan had been biding his time, gathering his strength, day in and day out. He made it through the winter and the early spring, and now it was the tail end of what felt like March. Summer was on the horizon. Negan intended to see it.

“Negan,” Rick’s voice was unexpectedly warm and gentle, “I’m glad you can speak. You sound just the same as before.”

“Just answer my question,” Negan spoke from the dark, careful to keep his exhaustion from tainting his tone. He had his arms outstretched, elbows propped on drawn-up knees, hands dangling in the air as he fought the restless itch in his fingertips. Eugene’s sabotaged bullet had laced Negan’s right hand with burns and cuts, but it was good as new, if not for the odd discoloration and the skin drawn tight from Siddiq’s needlework. Still, Negan missed the reassuring weight of Lucille in his hands. After he was released, he was going to find her.

“You’re never getting out of here, Negan.” The sternness in Rick’s tone brooked no argument, but there was a softness of apology in his weathered face and ancient eyes. “It’s like we told you before. The world is gonna go on without, it’s gonna get better, and we’re all gonna do better without you in charge. You’re just gonna stay in here forever.”

“‘Til I rot, right?” Negan lifted his head, and the light from the little window illuminated over his eyes like a mask. He wanted Rick to look at him, to see him and know that this was far from over. “That what _you_ want, Rick? For me to be in the ground alongside your boy?” Ignoring Rick’s flinch, Negan forged on, “Or is that what _they_ want? What the Widow wants? For me to go to hell so I can see Ol’ Red and the Asian boy again? Give her husband a sloppy kiss from her?”

“Stop it.”

“I won’t,” Negan snarled, “I’m gonna get outta here one day, and you know what’s the best part, Rick?” Without waiting for an answer, Negan finished, “I _know_ that that’s what you really want.”

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Rick bit back, but Negan sensed his exposed vulnerability and pounced on it without mercy.

“Don’t bother trying to deny it, baby,” Negan sneered with a proud lift of his head. “You didn’t spare me out of fucking mercy. No, no, your intentions in that moment were fucking far from fucking pure. They were goddamn selfish, baby. You didn’t kill me because you love me. And when I get outta here, I’m gonna show you how wrong that is.”

Eyes round, Rick’s southern drawl was soft on Negan’s ears. “W-what’s wrong with that? With lovin’ you when I know that it’s possible?”

Of all the things Negan had expected Rick to say – outright denial, homophobic vehemence, reminders of his relationship with Michonne or Negan’s fucked-up past – Negan would have never thought that Rick would fight him on this. The wind taken out of his sails, Negan leaned his head back until he was swathed in shadows again, the cinderblocks rough and cold against his back. “Whatever, baby. That’s your mistake. It’s your funeral.”

 

_~Seven Months into Imprisonment~_

 

Rick had cropped his hair short. Gone were the tempestuous curly locks, and instead, Rick was graying, growing old, his thick beard nearly all white now as he grew it out. Tangling his fingers in his own beard, Negan resisted the urge to smooth it over his neck. He knew it was stupid to be self-conscious of a scar. In this world, very few escaped not having any, and in Negan’s case, Rick was the one who gave him the damn scar to begin with. But still, despite how much his beard irritated him since it tickled uncomfortably against the sensitive scar tissue, Negan wasn’t ready to cut it down yet. Not yet.

“You look like a fucking shorn lamb, Rick,” Negan mumbled around his sandwich. “Summertime already?

With creaky knees, Rick sat down opposite from Negan and ruefully rubbed his palm over his head. “It’s looking more white than brown now, I know,” he admitted, but he had a crooked little smile on his soft mouth all the same.

“You know you’re not as sexy as you were before.” Negan curled his toes into the blankets. “I bet your missus preferred it when she had something to tug on whenever you buried your nose in her pussy.”

"Negan,” Rick crooned a soft rebuke, “hush.”

“Can’t blame me for wanting to know about your sex life. Mine is fucking nonexistent at this point.” Elegantly, Negan’s wrist rolled clockwise, gesturing needlessly at his surroundings and his pitiful cot barely big enough for him when he curled up. “You’ve changed my fucking sheets often enough from my fucking nocturnal emissions.”

Wrinkling his nose with all the delicate and offended sensibilities of a southern belle, Rick drawled, “You sure wanna talk about that while you eatin’? Though, I have to say, I’m surprised by uh, how much there is from you. You’re only gettin’ older.”

“Fuck you, Rick, I’ve got less white than you and I have to be at least five years older.”

Rolling his shoulders made Rick’s muscles ripple, bulge, and flex under his dingy beige button-up. “Well, some people have all the luck.”

Squinting at Rick, Negan tilted his head. “Get the fuck outta here with that modesty shit. Have you seen your fucking wife? You both are fucking hot. Fucking deserve each other.”

Studiously examining his scuffed-up boots, Rick ignored Negan. “You know why I cut my hair? It’s better for gardening. My hair before was too thick, and it would stick to my forehead.”

“Gardening, huh? Sounds like pussy shit.”

“Well, that pussy shit has been feedin’ you.” Rick nodded towards Negan’s half-eaten sandwich. “All of that was grown locally.”

"I know you make the bread here,” Negan brushed the tip of his index finger over the top slice of bread. “There’s this creaking noise. It’s a mill, isn’t it? A windmill?”

“That’s right.” There was a proud set to Rick’s jaw. “It’s one of our keys to the future. Just like gardenin’. Never thought I’d be much of a farmer, but nowadays, it’s peaceful. It’s rewardin’. It’s challengin’, but it’s a good lesson about reapin’ what you sew.” He paused, and Negan sensed there was a point to this, so he held his tongue. “I want you to join me in the garden, Negan, a little at the time, every day that I can.”

Shocked into silence, Negan took a while to find his voice again, but once he did, he couldn’t hold back the vitriol. “What happened to me fucking rotting in here, Rick? Did you forget about the goddamn plan? Do I have to remind you? You happy fucks get to live and I stay here until I’m fucking forgotten. That’s how this is supposed to work.”

“Well, I don’t want that.” Proving his worth as a leader, Rick was able to remain calm. “There’s no reason you can’t contribute somethin’ to everythin’, too, even if it’s just pickin’ strawberries.”

“I am contributing something here, Rick,” Negan reminded him with a sardonic lift of his brow, “I’m the example of everything you pricks are supposed to be above. That’s why you put me down here – that’s why you fucking damned me to hell like this.”

Shaking his head at Negan’s dramatics that he was so used to by now, Rick pushed himself to his feet. “I thought you’d be happy to get out of here for a little bit every day. Get some Vitamin D or somethin’. Smell the roses.” In a lower voice, he added, “I know that you’ve been hurtin’ yourself. Michonne told me. She’s had to bring Siddiq down to check on you at least three times since I’ve been gone.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Negan dropped his sandwich to the plate and crossed his arms over his chest. His sleeves hid the bandages, and the bandages hid the claw marks from his fingernails. Michonne and Siddiq had to wrestle him down to cut his nails to the quick to prevent him from doing that again. “Even if you fuckers gave me permission to die, I still couldn’t do it. I’m too chicken shit.”

A pained look pinched Rick’s face, and he rested a hand against the bars like he wanted to reach through and stroke his knuckles down Negan’s cheek instead. “It might help you…to have somethin’ to live for besides yourself.”

With a snort, Negan rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna live for a fucking garden.”

Slowly, Rick withdrew his hand, curving his fingers around his belt. “It’s not so much about what you plant, but what grows from that. Not everyone gets the chance to see somethin’ like that through.”

“Yeah,” Negan drawled, and already felt the bile bubbling in his throat for what he was about to say next when he finally locked eyes with Rick. “Carl sure didn’t.”

Rick didn’t come back for two weeks.

 

_~One Year into Imprisonment~_

 

“No.”

“Negan, please,” Rick pleaded, actually pleaded, and yet even that note of urgency in his soft drawl couldn’t tempt Negan enough to even roll over and face him. “I don’t know why you won’t let me help you. Everyone deserves a second chance. Just an hour – one hour – you don’t even have to prune. You can just sit next to me. No handcuffs.”

Negan’s answer was the same as it has been since the first offer. “No. I’m not going out there. Fuck off,” and with a terse growl, he added, “Leave me alone.”

"I’m not gonna do that anymore, Negan,” Rick sighed, “You’ve had your time, but I’m not budgin’ on this.” Deciding to switch tactics, Rick asked, “Is it because you’re scared?”

“What?”

"Are you scared? Siddiq told me that sometimes prisoners developed mental blocks against big spaces or open sky. It’s okay if you are; we’ll get through it.”

“No. I’m not fucking afraid of that.” With jerky motions, Negan maneuvered himself on his back and stretched his arm towards the window, pointing at it without looking. “I’ve spent so many hours peeking out into the world. Wide open spaces don’t scare me.”

Taking a step closer to the bars, Rick gently asked, “Somethin’ else scarin’ you then?”

Negan shot daggers at Rick. “Of course, I’m fucking scared of going out there. They’re gonna kill me if they catch me out there. You fucking know that. It’s goddamn suicide.”

Frowning, Rick’s reply came haltingly, “I…isn’t that…you don’t want to die anymore?”

“No, I do. Felt that way since the beginning.” Negan pressed his knuckles into his eyelids until he saw white fireworks bloom. “But death is scary, Rick. I’ve seen fucking plenty of it. There is no good way to die anymore.” Slowly, Negan uncurled his fists and dragged his tapered fingertips down his cheeks and over his beard. “You almost fucking killed me, Rick. I was so close to fucking dying. I felt it. I don’t wanna ever feel that way again, no matter how fucking shitty I feel.” With a deep sigh, Negan neatly folded his hands across his stomach, fingers interlocked. “And with the life I fucking led? Christ. I know exactly where I’m going, so I’m not much looking forward to what comes after.”

 

_~One Year and Two Months into Imprisonment~_

 

Somehow, someway, Rick managed to convince him into these gardening therapy sessions. Negan had to wonder how his balls didn’t shrivel up inside him, but that was probably because Rick had him castrated right when he slit him open across the neck. At first, they started off at night, making their rounds through the greenhouses. Since none of the greenhouses were positioned in front of his little window, Negan didn’t know that Alexandria didn’t even have any of these, but they did. They worked through the winter, using generators to keep them heated, and Rick and Negan worked by lantern light which was both extremely bad for their eyes and extremely risky to bring a flame into a very flammable building. But Rick had insisted that these were risks worth taking. “Besides,” he had murmured as he bent over a row of burgeoning spinach and meticulously pruned them back, “I don’t sleep much anyway, and I never got time to work in the daylight in the gardens anymore.”

Tonight, light shine in from every side thanks to the crisp clarity of a winter full moon. Negan felt like it was huge in the sky, closer to Earth than it has been – or maybe he only felt that way because he didn’t get to see the moon much anymore from his little window. Despite how beautiful a sleeping Alexandria looked, Negan was terrified. He was in a glass box, fully visible to the outside world. It was exactly how crickets must feel in enclosures before the geckos are introduced.

Twisting his head around, Negan tried in vain to see through the mirrored glass surface to the outside world, straining his eyes against the refracted light to do so. “I don’t know how you do this shit.”

Answering Negan without lifting his head from his shears, Rick coolly replied, “It takes patience and practice. You’ll learn both in time. Also, dedication. Lots of boring stuff.”

“That’s not what I was talking about.” Negan shifted on his aching knees, fingers fumbling in the dirt. “You make yourself a giant target. It’d be so fucking easy to kill you if someone was stupid enough and ballsy enough. And then you put yourself next to me, and that’s not a temptation, that’s an outright fucking dare.”

“So, you think someone is just gonna walk up and kill you right here and now? When you’re next to me?” The look Rick gave Negan when he finally looked up from his task was withering and overall unimpressed.

“Yup. Spray me blood all over the cabbage leaves and everything.” Negan flicked his fingers over said cabbage leaves, mimicking the spray action. “Hell, you’ll probably just get Gabe to say a few words and then bury me under the fucking turnips or some shit.”

"If I do, do you promise to push up a daisy for me? I’m sure Judith would love one.”

“Fuck you, Rick. You are just ice fucking cold.”

Finally putting his sheers to the side, Rick turned to face Negan full on. “Negan, so long as you’re with me, I won’t let them hurt you.”

Sighing, Negan resisted the urge to pick the cabbages like flowers in his indecisiveness. “Doesn’t mean it’s not gonna happen. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow.” Sneaking a glance at Rick, Negan added in an even lower tone of voice, “I bet someone has already told the Widow. She’s not gonna stand for this shit.”

Busying his hands with his gloves, Rick said, “She’s not gonna come here. I haven’t been able to get her to set foot in Alexandria since…before you. But she’s busy with her own things, runnin’ Hilltop and takin’ care of her baby.”

Negan’s eyes went wide. “She…she was pregnant?”

Sometimes Rick forgot that Negan didn’t know everything, that he knew only as much as they told him. And while Rick usually told him about the going-ons as far as construction projects and ambitious planting in the gardens and about Judith’s accomplishments, Rick seldom talked about the common gossip. “Uh,” he swallowed, “she was…she was why we were out in the woods that night. She was sick, we thought she was losin’ the baby. She didn’t, though, obviously. This one is her first. Maggie named him Hershel.”

“Was that the daddy’s name? The Asian guy?”

“No.” Rick’s throat was thick. “Her husband’s name was Glenn. Hershel was her father.” Using a clean spot on his forearm, Rick quickly swiped at his eyes. “I knew Hershel. Not from before, but we met durin’ all this. He was a veterinarian, and he saved C-Carl from dyin’ by a gun wound.” Dropping his head, Rick added, “He also was the one to teach me about farmin’.”

“He…sounds like he was a good man. Little Hershel has a lot to live up to,” Negan managed to vaguely reply.

“Yeah, we all do.” Then after Rick took a steadying breath, he took a pair of gloves from his back pocket and offered them to Negan. “Alright, let me teach you how to do this.”

 

_~One Year and Four Months into Imprisonment~_

 

With the start of spring, Negan was now ready to garden during the daytime and outside of the greenhouses. He was back on familiar territory with the tomato patch and adjacent strawberry garden within view of his little window. Most of the time, he still gardened with Rick – and he was getting good at it, too – but sometimes when Rick’s attention was increasingly taken away for other, more pressing and important matters, Negan was assigned to someone else. Occasionally it was Michonne, or an Alexandrian named Scott, or Nora, but recently, his newest warden has been Judith.

Michonne dropped Judith off in the garden with her own kiddy gloves and a small basket that might’ve once had been using for collecting and displaying Easter eggs. “There’s an emergency, and they need me and Rick. We need someone to watch Judith, and I’m not putting her in that cell.” She really didn’t give Negan much of a choice, and he was obligated to stay because he knew better than to leave.

Rick had told him once that even if he did try to make a run for it, everyone was under orders to capture rather than kill. “That doesn’t mean that can’t shoot you,” Rick had only-half joked in warning. Negan took it to heart, now too deeply invested in his gardening privileges to even consider screwing anything up about it.

After the first few times with just him and Judith, Negan learned something important about himself. For one, he really should have made Lucille a mom. For another, toddlers weren’t all that different from middle schoolers. Judith laughed at everything he said, and she sassed him when he asked for her help pulling up sweet potatoes, and she got bored and tried to wander off. But she was also a perfect angel, and she decided very quickly after she met Negan that he was her best friend. He took that title very, very seriously.

They played hide and seek, the boundaries limited by the garden. Occasionally, they would go inside her house so he could feed her lunch or wash her face up after she’d roll in the dirt pretending to be a pig. It was a good life, and though sometimes there were a few strange looks from the other Alexandrians, they let it all go because they trusted Rick’s judgement. And by now, they could tell that Negan wasn’t so much of a psychopath that he would hurt a little kid.

“Negan, Negan!” Judith sang and crashed into his back, nearly bowling him over.

Only just managing to stay upright to save the struggling rosemary sprouts he had transferred to the planters under Rick’s windows, Negan dropped the dirt and grabbed Judith’s tiny hands she carelessly slung around his neck. He’s given her so many piggyback rides that he’s not afraid anymore of his scar being shown or touched. Fresh into the warm spring season as he was now, Negan’s hair was buzzed short and his beard was just a light dusting of white stubble up and down his jaw.

“Hey there, little angel!” He kissed her palms, and she giggled at his whiskery kisses until she pulled back. “Are you gonna help me in the garden today?”

“No, I’m gonna have a picnic!” She bounced on the balls of her feet with excitement, and her smile was missing one of her bottom teeth, the pink gum split with the bumpy ridges of her adult tooth.

“A picnic? Well, that’s great! With your momma and daddy?” Negan looked over her shoulder at where Rick and Michonne were waiting, hand in hand.

“Uh-huh.” Grabbing tiny fistfuls of his plaid shirt, Judith tugged. “I want you to come, too.” She readjusted her grip in favor of his hand, not caring about the rough texture or the dirt on his gardening glove, and pulled him again.

Not given much of a choice, Judith proved just how much of a Grimes she was as she managed to coax him out. They had their picnic under a small gazebo near Father Gabriel’s church, and though Negan kept an eye out, no Alexandrians paid them any mind as they went about their own business. Judith roped them all into games and begged Rick to read _The Wizard of Oz_ to them while they laid on their backs and pointed out shapes in the clouds. Judith even demanded that they work in the garden a little bit, too, insisting that they help Negan with his chores.

All the while, Negan marveled at where he was now in his life. How did he ever get here? How could they let him live like this because this was _living_ – something he hadn’t done since before. Secretly he wondered if this was all a big joke at his expense, if they viewed him as the family dog they kept around for Judith’s sake after he was neutered with his vocal cords clips and claws pulled out by the knuckles. He was pretty much free labor, not requiring much beyond his three meals a day and weekly bath and then the other little trinkets Rick brought him like blankets and books. At the end of every day, he was still put back in his cell, though it was homier now than ever. But all the yoga mats and bobbleheads in the world couldn’t change the fact that he was behind bars.

That night after having dinner at the Grimes house, Rick brought Negan back to his cell. “That was a good family fun day,” Rick mused aloud, casually unlocking the jail cell door. “It’s been a long time coming.”

“Mhm,” Negan hummed, waiting to be locked up again for the night. The nights were the worse, so cold and all alone. That’s when the dreams came for him. Well, they were dreams if he was lucky. Mostly they were nightmares and memories.

The squeal of the door swinging open on its hinges pulled Negan from his thoughts, and he stepped over the threshold with Rick’s guiding hand burning a hole through his plaid shirt on the small of his back. Before Rick shut and locked the door, though, he shifted his hand to catch Negan’s. Pausing, Negan looked back at Rick with hazel eyes that reflected a bone-deep exhaustion. Slowly, Rick brought his other hand up and he traced his fingertips over the old gash, which had gone from angry red to same pink as Rick’s lips.

Watching it transpire as though it was in slow motion, Negan melted at the first touch of Rick’s soft mouth on his neck, kissing an apology over the scar tissue. A soft sigh of relief escaped his own gaping mouth in a whisper when Rick trailed his mouth upwards to finally slot his lips over Negan’s. The kiss was like breathing life into each other’s lungs, one expelling all the sweetness and love of the finite flower petals of spring, the other expelling raw hope.

By the time they separated, they were pressed together from chest to stern, both of their faces overly warm with blushes that went past the collar of their shirts. Rick gave Negan’s face one last careless, his fingertips reverently tracing over sharp cheekbones and then he whispered thickly, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Rick.”

 

_~One Year and Six Months into Imprisonment~_

 

Rick was being coquettish today. Instead of working with Negan side by side as he normally does, Rick chose to tend to the strawberries instead of the onions. With a small smile, Negan just shook his head and kept working under the sun, his mind on his hands pulling weeds than pulling Rick’s chin in for another kiss. Eventually, though, as he normally does, Rick finished up his work quickly and found his way back to Negan.

"Darlin’,” Negan greeted him with a brief kiss and passed him a basket to fill.

Blue eyes crinkled from his smile, Rick talked to him quietly about everything going on. “Missed you yesterday,” Rick murmured, “me and Michonne had to bunk at the Sanctuary. The bridge finally gave out.”

“Just a matter of fucking time.” Negan gave a grunt as the onion stubbornly clung to the Earth. “I guess you and Michonne had a good night? She had you all to herself.”

“You know she doesn’t mind about us. I’m with you,” Rick murmured, “and I’m with her.”

“I know.” None of this was new to Negan considering his history, but he was frustrated more with himself than anything else. He’s always been selfish. Why couldn’t he learn to be happy with what he has?

“Michonne and I want a baby.”

This didn’t surprise Negan either. Rick was a good father, and Michonne was a good mother. There’s been a steady increase in pregnancies. Siddiq was a fine doctor, and Enid – Carl’s old girlfriend who still came around sometimes and lingered by Carl’s grave – she was starting up an apprenticeship under him.

"That’s nice, Rick.”

Rick’s hand, smudged with dirt, touched Negan’s forearm, littered with old scars. “That doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

Gathering his courage, Negan swallowed and then took a deep breath through his nose before he turned towards Rick. “I know, baby. I love you, too.” They shared another kiss, this one interrupted by Negan’s chuckle as he pulled away.

"What?” Rick grinned at him, eyes sparkling. He was always so happy now. “What is it? What’s so funny?”

“I’m just thinking about all these babies. Your little tyke and the Widow’s heir huddled around in a daycare together with Aaron’s baby girl.” At the mention of the Widow – who Negan still refused to use her real name – Rick’s happiness dimmed briefly.

With a small smirk lining his mouth, Negan had to go ruin a good moment. “Tell me Rick, since you love me so fucking much. When someone finally comes out here to kill me, what are you gonna do to them? Sure, you’re gonna cry over my dead body and all, because you’re soft. You always feel too deep. But what are you gonna do when it happens? Throw them in my cell?”

Rick smiled again, but it was different, something that Negan had only seen once and that was in the mirror in what felt like a lifetime ago, back when he was on top. Pulling Negan in for another kiss, Rick dominated Negan’s mouth and nipped at his lip until it swelled. “If that ever happens – and it won’t – I’ll handle it.” Nosing at that spot underneath Negan’s ear where there was still a faint mark of an old hickey, Rick breathed, “You don’t ever have to worry about that.”

 

_~Two Years into Imprisonment~_

 

The scar over Negan’s exposed neck went cold as a blade hovered over his skin. “Don’t move,” growled a southern drawl, thicker than Rick’s and low in pitch despite the femininity.

A shadow fell across Negan’s closed eyes, and they slowly fluttered open to gaze upon his killer. The Widow was beautiful, her hair thick and curly like Lucille’s had been before the chemo, though not quite as dark. She had a healthy glow to her skin from hard work in the sun, the same kind of tan that Negan saw on Rick. She had a plaid shirt hanging off her shoulders, blue to Negan’s red, and her wide hips were at level with Negan’s nose. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Now where have I heard that before,” Negan wryly murmured.

The knife at his neck was sheathed again and then the Widow lifted the wrought iron, twisted crowbar. He could see where it had blackened her hand. Negan wondered if his blood would be able to wash away so easily, too.

“Maggie!” Michonne screamed, keeping a cautious distance. Her katana was still on her back. “Please, we don’t do this anymore. It’s different no. Don’t do this.” There were tears shining in her eyes. “You’ll just regret it.”

“I’m not regrettin’ anythin’ here.” Maggie stared down at Negan with wide eyes, as wild as a mare’s protecting her foal. With flared nostrils and bared teeth, Maggie hissed, “I know exactly why I’m doin’ this. It needs to be done.”

“Why didn’t you do it sooner?” Negan croaked, and he was startled at the first touch of wetness on his cheeks. He didn’t think he would cry when the moment came, but also never thought he’d have a reason to live anymore. But he found one, all the same.

“Shut up.” She raised the crowbar high overhead and it was so dull and black that it seemed to swallow up the sunlight rather than reflect it. Negan wasn’t brave enough to look at it, and he looked passed Maggie to Michonne for comfort and reassurance. Over Michonne’s head, he saw Judith’s face in the window, her small hands hammering on the glass fruitlessly. She was snatched away by an unseen hand and the curtains fluttered back into place.

“For Glenn.”

Negan’s eyes darted back to Maggie’s.

And then he didn’t see anything.


End file.
